


Beware the Autumn People

by BlindedByFairyLights



Category: Bandom, The bandom, Twenty One Pilots, joshler - Fandom
Genre: A particularly unhelpful cat, Ghosts, M/M, Mild Gore, Shitty neighbors, Witchcraft, Witches, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-29 17:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11445474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindedByFairyLights/pseuds/BlindedByFairyLights
Summary: Tall and rickety, built back in the 1800s, decorated with peeling paint layered on top of peeling wood, and adorned with a door that’s only a few slams from broken...Tread lightly within the house at the end of the road.





	1. The Unlucky 15

**Author's Note:**

> they frenzy forth. in gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. the spider-web hears them, trembles- breaks. such are the autumn people. beware of them.
> 
> something wicked this way comes.

Everything changes on a Thursday.

Tyler’s sitting at his desk, trying to rearrange his candles into the circle they had been in prior to his cat’s involvement, when a moving van drives past the window. The van is enough to have him on his feet and to have is candles gone astray once again. It doesn’t seem like much, but in an obnoxiously small suburban town which sits so miniscule on a map that it can barely even be referred to as a town- a moving van is a big thing. 

Tyler’s not sure he’s ever seen anyone new in this town, let alone someone new who also just so happens to be moving in. That’s totally his explanation as to why he’s got his forehead pressed against the window now and his knees braced against his desk, not that he’s dying to see more of the real life-looking lemonhead driving said van.

This guy better be a good one, Tyler keeps getting the worst neighbors. There’s the man on the right of him, a Trump supporting school teacher, who if Tyler had to guess by the “straight pride” sign dug into his front lawn, also happens to be a homophobe. There’s the family inhabiting the house to the left of him, in which one member always seems to be yelling about one thing or another and who also own a well-bred poodle that they let shit anywhere on the street with no intentions of cleaning it up afterwards. Then there’s the people across from him, a couple who’s “just married” according to their Ford, and who are also both cheating on eachother with multiple different people, Tyler’s said hi to them once during a particularly awkward encounter on the street and was blatantly ignored while doing so.

And it’s not just the houses surrounding him that suck. It’s the people in his building too. Out of all the other renters in Tyler’s apartment, Tyler’s only ever directly met one (he’s got to specify with directly because he has most certainly heard the people in the apartment above him having incredulously loud sex, but never met either face to face) an older woman named Marie who he actually takes a liking to. She’s the best out of all of them, and still the most in depth conversations they’ve had are just the exchanges of hello when they see each other in the hall. 

Tyler chants a quick luck incantation, squeezing a hefty chunk of rose quartz all the while. He’s keeping his eyes trained on the moving van, eyes squinted to focus every intent his little soul could possibly intend on it, when he realizes where it’s headed. 

“Shit,” Tyler groans, biting his lip. . 

Tyler’s street is made up of seven houses total, one of which being Tyler’s apartment building, so that makes six possibilities for this moving van could have gone. Six possibilities. One in six chances that this new neighbor could wind up with a deadly doozy. That’s what… like 15 percent or something? Tyler’s not very good at math (as his calc professor happily reminds him every class) so he’s not positive, but either way, that means the odds were totally in this mystery man’s favor, and he’s still managed to wind up screwed.

You know how in all of those cheesy eighties horror movies there’s always that terrible, run down, dishevelled house at the end of the block that most certainly belongs to the antagonist? Tyler’s road has one of those houses: Tall and rickety, built back in the 1800s, peeling paint layered on top of peeling wood, a door that’s only a few slams from broken, and god knows how many bad spirits based just upon the energies Tyler can feel emanating from there to his room. He can only imagine how strong they would be if he stood outside the house, or god forbid inside it. Tyler’s never dared to walk within fifty feet of the house, staying strictly to the radius of his and his neighbors’ lawns. 

And said horror movie-esque house just so happens to be where the moving van has just pulled in. 

The moving van pulls into the driveway without the grass eating it like a scene out of Monster House, and Tyler lets out a soft breath. He hadn’t really assumed that it would, but in his two years of living on this road Tyler’s never seen someone living enter that house, so just about anything could be about to happen. Can’t be too careful.

The owner of the haunted house steps out of his van, clothed in battered jeans and an X-Files hoodie, unruly yellow hair sticking up in all directions as he makes his way to the front door. 

Tyler wants to cry. The guy is beautiful. 

Tyler also wants to cry because as the door is unlocked and tugged open by said beautiful guy, the atmosphere of the house darkens to a point where he can feel it physically tighten his chest. 

Ghosts are no new matter to Tyler, he’s done plenty of spirit work before, but channeling energy into a board or a crystal where the received energy can be filtered and strained into a diluted form is much different than encountering decades worth of unhappy spirits, all caged up and stuck together in their pure form.

It doesn’t necessarily feel dangerous, not yet at least, just incredibly uneasy. Tyler’s not sure if the things residing in that house could be dangerous, but if he’s going just by the energy they emit, then he’s going to have to assume that they have the potential to be. 

The guy disappears into the house after that, the heavy, nearly splintered door closing slowly behind him. Tyler takes this as his cue to back away from the window and stop being creepy before one of his neighbors questions him. 

Reginald’s silently made his way to sit atop Tyler’s altar in the time that Tyler’s gaze has been outside, only bringing attention to his own presence when he begins making soft cat noises. The poor guy’s probably hungry- but to be fair he’s also sort of the reason dinner’s so delayed, with his knocking Tyler’s candles all around. 

Reginald and Tyler have always eaten together, cat bowl placed across from human bowl for all three meals of the day, and with Tyler’s moving from fixing his candles to creepily watching the new guy move in, dinner’s been accidentally pushed back by a good twenty minutes. 

He scoops up the cat’s tiny silver body and scratches his chin as an apology on the walk towards the kitchenette. 

Reginald gets his soft canned food (infused with a mix of kitty-safe herbs Tyler has concocted on his own) while Tyler gets the leftovers of yesterday's tomato soup. Tyler’s the first to finish eating, per usual, so he talks freely to Reginald as he waits for the cat to finish his meal too. 

“We have a new neighbor. He’s pretty cute… cool dyed hair, nice taste in jackets,” Reginald ignores him as he speaks, favoring munching over listening. “He uh, he moved into the old house at the end of the road,” The cat does look up at this however, interest mildly piqued as anyone’s would be if they knew which house Tyler was talking about, before going back to his food. “I know, crazy huh. I kinda wanna talk to him. Do you think I should talk to him, Reg?”

Reginald only huffs in response, not bothering to lift his head again. Tyler rolls his eyes. 

“You’re not very helpful,” He chastises, as if he was really banking on Reginald’s answer. Which in all honesty he sort of was… but no one needs to know that. 

Tyler rests his head on his hand, watching Reginald take his last few bites while silently brainstorming how to introduce himself to the new owner of the Hell House.


	2. Rock, Paper, Pendulum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler has never been the best at baking.

Tyler has never been the best at baking. With his vast knowledge of herbs and spices one would assume that he’d at least be able to throw together something in an over, but the numerous past incidents involving green muffins, liquid cookies, and an uncuttable loaf of banana bread say otherwise.

This doesn’t stop Tyler from giving a valiant effort to make the new guy at the end of the road some sort of baked good though. What that baked good might be, Tyler still doesn’t know.

With Reginald being of no help whatsoever last night, Tyler’s decided to consult a different being’s opinion today. This has nothing to do with the fact that Reginald’s currently taking a nap and looks far too cute for Tyler to wake him. Totally doesn’t.

Soft pink quartz pendulum in hand, and elbow braced against the incredibly small kitchen counter to ensure the stone isn’t influenced in anyway, Tyler begins the same process he’s performed time after time again. 

“Show me yes,” The pendulum swings up and down. “Show me no,” The pendulum swings from side to side and Tyler smiles. “Thank you. I’ve got a list of some baked goods, can you help me chose what to make? Reg is being unhelpful,” Reginald, having woken up now, gives an annoyed meow from his seat at the table, which Tyler ignores as the pendulum swings to indicate yes. “Sick, here we go.”

“A pie?” No.

“Muffins?” No.

“Cheesecake?” No.

“Chocolate cake?” No. 

“Vanilla cake?” No. 

Tyler’s gotten to somewhere around his sixth type of cake when it’s clear that both he and his pendulum are getting fed up with the asking and rejecting. One more than the other it seems, as before he can read off another item from Martha Stewart's “list of most decadent baked goods”, Tyler’s pendulum goes shooting out from his grip and directly into the side of his little porcelain cookie jar. 

If ever added to a game of rock paper scissors, Tyler can first-handedly contend to the fact that rose quartz beats cookie jar. This fact is well justified by the remnants of such cookie jar currently scattered across his kitchen counter, pendulum sitting daintily on top. Cookies, it seems, are what Tyler will be making. 

“Well. There was no need to be a dick about it,” Tyler sighs and retrieves his pendulum before cleaning up the mess of pottery it’s just made. 

Cookies aren’t the worst thing to bake. Tyler’s mom had made them for just about every holiday when he was younger, sugar for Christmas, pumpkin for Halloween, molasses for Thanksgiving, so on and so forth. Part of it was probably because she had just about the same skill range as Tyler when it came to baking. Actually no, that’s just about all of it, and also a good reason why that’s what Tyler’s has been advised to make. Mushy, improperly cooked cakes are no such way to introduce himself to a hot new neighbor. 

Tyler decides on pumpkin chocolate chip, on his own this time too, not wanting to be the cause of pumpkin guts scattered along his counter directly after he’s just cleaned up the last mess. It’s always been his favorite kind, and with the weather and the state of the trees outside, pumpkin just seems fitting. 

The first batch comes out burnt to the point where Tyler’s pretty sure he could start using these to draw sigils instead of his charcoal pencils. The second batch looks beautiful, but as soon as he bites into one to be sure he isn’t about to poison the new guy, Tyler gets a mouthful of uncooked, pumpkin-flavored mush.

The third batch is perfect. Well maybe perfect is a bit of a stretch, they’re a bit deformed, and strangely lumpy, but they taste great even despite all of Tyler’s substitutions of certain ingredients: lavender butter instead of margarine, moon salt instead of sea salt, a fine honey solution instead of vanilla extract, and a few other things Tyler added impulsively for protection.. They’re tasty, and from a distance they look fairly normal too. 

They look even better wrapped in tissue paper and placed in the center of the only set of tupperware Tyler owns that isn’t covered in occult symbols. Tyler’s proud of them. He gives Reginald a pat on the head, even though he’s done nothing to move any of this along, and thanks his pendulum one last time, even though it totally fucked up the homey aesthetic of kitchen. 

All that’s left now is to deliver them to the house that looks as though Freddy Krueger may have been the original owner.Tyler’s prepared though, he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it so far!!! More coming soon :-)

**Author's Note:**

> There it is! The next chapter coming very very soon.


End file.
